


Eros Does Atlas

by Morteamore



Series: Kinktober 2019 [1]
Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Sex, Atlas CEO Rhys, Hook-Up, Kinktober 2019, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn star Troy, Rimming, Sex Toys, Size Difference, Spoilers, Uncircumcised Penis, big dick energy, big insertion, mild dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-25 15:54:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20914676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morteamore/pseuds/Morteamore
Summary: Cult leader by day, porn star by night, jaded Troy Calypso just wants a meaningful hook-up. Enter Rhys, who seems all too eager to oblige him. When things don't work out as planned, Troy isn't content to just drop it, pursuing Rhys even after discovering he's working with opposing forces.





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> This part is meant to take place before the Calypsos' deal with Katagawa Jr. and the invasion of Promethea.   
Written for Kinktober 2019 for the size difference, sex toys, rimming, and dub-con prompts

The smell of sweat and alcohol permeated the room, rising from the clustered mass of bodies that writhed beneath the ambient lights, mixing with the occasional whiff of something more pungent and potent. Music thumped like some great throbbing heart pumped to capacity with adrenaline, the dancers it lured on to the dance floor just starting to play catch up with the frenzy. The night was young and ripe for debauchery. It was also, to put it ironically, the same old song and dance. Beyond the beautiful men, women, and those of no discernible definition in their six digit wardrobes, their slick handlers, and the industry types in their monkey suits, lay salvation from it all. Bathed in a subdued purple lighting reminiscent of pure eridium, the VIP lounge was almost too sparse to exist in this place. No more than a few plush couches made up its seating arrangement, a miniature spread of finger foods and alcohol with an attendant standing at the ready tucked off in one of its corners.

Security standing at the door didn’t need to see his pass. One look at him and they were nodding to give him the go ahead. Not that he was even paying attention, his stride unhindered by any pause of acknowledgment. He briefly made a pitstop to seize himself a plate of snacks and a colorful glass that was more energy drink and sugar than alcohol, passing a gaggle of his bright-eyed, jabbering cohorts gathered around a mountain of some finely cut substance like hogs at a trough. They weren’t even taking turns, just sticking their thumbs into the pie all at once, shoving what they pulled out into their mouths or noses or fuck knew what other membranous orifices. A woman with a nose suffering from what looked like frostbite glanced up at his passing, waving and shouting _hey, Eros!_ to entice him to join. Only raising his glass in her direction, he continued on without fanfare, finding a lone couch to hunker down on and cram several hors d'oeuvre into his mouth at once, washing them down with his drink in one gulp. The tangy and cloying concoction of e-drink mixed with strong alcohol lingered on his tongue long after, simultaneously satisfying and nauseating. It couldn’t be said that he ever drank for the pleasure of it. Alcohol was often vile to him. But he liked the way it relieved stressors and allowed his mind and muscles to relax without all the unknown side effects of random substances.

Empty glass set aside, he balanced his plate on his lap and made himself comfortable, palming his ECHO device. Far more interesting than the room around him, he navigated to his apps, opening up a particular one with a devil-faced vault symbol and the word VAULTHUNTERS. The animated loading screen cycled, exploding into a number in the double digits, indicating how many unread conversations he had in his inbox. His profile had been up less than twenty-four hours, and it was already swamped. Par for the course, he guessed. Ignoring the messages for the moment, he clicked on the ‘search new profiles in your area’ button and waited. The connection here was faulty at best. Sort of pathetic, considering the rating, quality, and cost of the hotel the party was currently being conducted in. Eventually it loaded the results, though, and honestly, he was a bit disappointed at the slim pickings the app turned up. Some woman living at a location that he could vaguely estimate to be Lectra City who looked like she could use a bath or two. He considered her a moment, than cursed at himself inwardly for even being that desperate and immediately moved on. The next guy was also from somewhere in Lectra. His appearance was better overall. Just enough muscles and body hair not to scream of being a twink. And he was listed as a switch. That was…promising. The sole picture the app allowed for free accounts was cropped off at the neck, though, so no facial shots unless he asked. Also it didn’t seem he was looking for something spur of the moment, and his bio was full of lines like _new to the city_ and _looking to make friends and hopefully something more_. Keeping him in mind but moving on, the young man was already growing bored with this as he eyed the last profile. 

This guy was a bit closer in distance. Meridian Metroplex. Classier too, if he could afford the rates of living here. Slightly older, but not enough to be of much concern. It wasn’t a new profile, but it had the _recently edited_ stamp. Staring at the profile picture, the man depicted there wasn’t exactly in the most provocative of poses. There was a pleasant, even grin on his face that made him look like one of those business types who were always out to please everybody. The collar of his preppy shirt was unbuttoned, conservative enough to be decent, but also open for just the right amount of enticement. Beneath it, on his unblemished skin, the faintest hint of blue ink could be seen poking out. The handle ‘CompanyMan’ burned into the viewer’s eyes as he stared longer than he’d planned. Whoever CompanyMan was may have been someone usually too clean-cut and high-maintenance for his tastes. Not that he minded the high life. It could be amazing, as long as he didn’t have to be sophisticated about it. But something compelled him to click anyway and open up the rest of the profile.

The typical laundry list of information wasn’t all that informative or interesting. Most of it he’d garnered from the picture. Tall, average body, and tattooed? Check. What really intrigued was the ‘casual, right now’ answer regarding what he was looking for and the fact that he was _very_ easy on the eyes. There was nothing to lose from messaging this guy, really. Opening the PM window, he typed out ‘Hey’ and was ready to send. But something stopped him. One word greetings weren’t really his style, even with how desperate he was feeling. Thinking it over, he added:

**GodTier**: Hey what would it take to see more of that tattoo?

Putting the ECHO aside for a moment, the young man picked up his plate again, intent on stuffing his face as he didn’t expect any rapid replies. No sooner had he done that, though, that the app dinged, signifying a new message.

**CompanyMan**: Depends. Am I obligated to call you GodTier?

Snorting at his screen, the man shook his head. Well, that answered a big fat _no_ to whether this guy recognized him or not. And that was an immediate bonus.

**GodTier**: LOL Nah I go by *many* names. But you might change your mind later

There was a pause in the conversation, a lull that seemed almost to go on for too long for how rapid the pace had been. For a moment the young man thought maybe he had come off too overbearing with that comment for what seemed like a milquetoast type. A new ding proved him wrong.

**CompanyMan**: Cool. I guess. Can you host?

**GodTier**: DeLeon Hotel presidential suite 30 mins?

**CompanyMan**: Whoa. Alright. Don’t I need clearance or something for that?

**GodTier**: Don’t worry I’ll send security the deets you just show up and try not to be late 

**GodTier**: Btw hope you like _Handsome Jack Tames Pandora_ that’s the only movie I don’t have to pay for 

**CompanyMan**: Fantastic. I’ll be seeing you

**GodTier**: You bet your pretty ass I’ll show you how we rock people’s worlds down on Nekrotafeyo

**CompanyMan**: I don’t know what that is LOL

**GodTier**: Look it up some time 

That seemed to end the conversation, CompanyMan probably scampering off to make himself presentable, or so the young man imagined. He pushed his plate off his lap, not caring if he dumped crumbs on to the expensive material of the couch, and stood, already en route to the exit. A hand at his hip stopped him, the touch startling in its lightness. He turned to find himself facing one of the more conservatively dressed women in the room, her expression stern.

“Eros,” she said in a calm, emotionless tone. “I’ve been looking for you. There’s some people I’d like you to meet.”

Already scowling, he told her in a scathing tone, “Not now, Miranda. I’m meeting someone.”

She raised an eyebrow at him but didn’t miss a beat.

“You haven’t done any PR since you’ve been here. You’re not going to just keep coasting on the fact your young, hot, and hung like a saurian forever. Some day you might actually have to work to get a gig, so you may as well learn now.”

“Sure, whatever. Last I checked you were being paid to be my agent, not my parent. Sooooo, bye! Don’t try pinging my ECHO, either. I’ll be too busy wrecking some hot piece of ass for the rest of the night.”

With that, he turned away, already considering the conversation dismissed. It appeared that he may have gotten away unscathed when a voice cut through the distance he’d already put between them.

“I didn’t sign up to babysit a belligerent child, either, but here I am,” Miranda finally shot back. “Guess the pay is just too good to pass up. Oh, and by the way, _Troy_.”

“Hey,” he snapped at her, turning back sharply. “Watch your—”

“Your sister pinged me. You haven’t answered a single ECHO message from her in days. Maybe you should get on that, eh? Before there’s a…_problem_ like last time.”

“Holy fuckballs, I’m _fine._ I don’t need to be at—you know what? Fuck this noise. I see your mouth flapping, but I don’t hear any words I actually, you know, _know_. Peace out, bitch.”

“Have fun, be safe, don’t get kidnapped. Lots of crazies out there would love to turn you into their own personal sex slave.”

Flipping her the middle finger without looking back, Troy tried to hide the smirk on his face as he left the VIP room. Miranda was right. Too many people among the six galaxies had the sole desire to get him alone and ravish him. 

And that was the problem.

Whoever CompanyMan was was either blissfully unaware or playing dumb. Whatever the case, Troy, as he made his way out of the party and into the hotel lobby, hoped it stayed that way. 

With the celebration in full swing still, as the hour remained early, nobody was waiting for the elevators designated for the private suites. One pinged on arrival, the doors sliding open. Troy ignored the attendant inside, who greeted him with a nod but made no other gesture of acknowledgment. Which he couldn’t decide if he preferred or not. Double-edged sword, he guessed, and left it at that. 

In truth, he hadn’t really had a chance to explore the presidential suite yet. Sure, he was familiar with their general opulence made up of extra soft beds and jacuzzis and top-shelf stocked mini-bars; windows that looked out on to a world so far below that it appeared to be made entirely of mobile miniatures. But each one had their own aesthetic, something to make them unique. The DeLeon being _the_ most exclusive hotel on Promethea, he expected no less from it.

A rustic motif greeted him as he opened the door. Bit too wilderness lodge for the planet’s general feel, really, but he guessed the hotel was trying to live up to its namesake. Which he really, really didn’t want to think about. Tossing his coat on to a wing-backed chair, he considered a shower, knew he didn’t really have time to deal with his cybernetics and opted to freshen up as best as he could in the short time span. 

Part of the way through the process, the anxiety started to set in. Taking a breath, he gave himself a once-over in the mirror, realized of all possible things he might be a bit nervous about this encounter. Which he hadn’t been before. Damn Miranda and her poisonous words. They’d only planted the tiniest seed of uncertainty, but they’d done their job. 

Well, he’d just have to keep himself from unraveling. Maybe he could fix himself another drink. He was halfway to the mini-bar when two things happened.

1) He realized if he touched a single thing, it was going to be added to the hotel expenses. And since he wasn’t the one fitting the bill for the suite, Miranda would either chew him out or just deduct it from his income. Or both. Which wasn’t the end of the world, but maybe not worth opening a bottle priced thousands just for a shot.

2) There was a knock at the door.

The second overtook the first, startling him. He realized that he hadn’t checked the time since he’d ended the conversation with CompanyMan and one glance at the wall clock told him, yes, a half hour had indeed passed, maybe even slightly more. He’d forgive the other man for—he squinted at the time—being almost ten minutes late, he guessed, considering he himself hadn’t even been paying attention. He wondered why security hadn’t alerted his ECHO, then realized he’d set it to DND after Miranda pissed him off without even realizing. Stupid of him.

Maybe Tyreen was right. On his own, he was even a handful for himself.

Godammit. He should probably just open the door. 

No sooner had another rap on the door sounded when Troy yanked it open, forgetting, at that moment, that this was company he’d _invited_. Such, he was absolutely glaring at the man on the other side of the threshold when he was revealed, only realizing how imposing he must seem, shirtless and nearly snarling, when he saw the look of uncertainty cross smooth features. Glad his robotic arm was currently mostly obscured behind the open door, Troy’s features relaxed and he hunched slightly, willing himself to appear like he wasn’t about to pounce on the man and tear into his flesh.

Clearing his throat, he let his eyelids droop slowly, falling into the far more charismatic persona he was known for on film.

“Hey there,” he purred, giving the man, finally, a long look from head to toe. Simple button-down, slacks, expensive watch; fashionable yet not trendy. Studying his face, he seemed to be pretty legit compared to his photos. “You must be CompanyMan.”

The other man opened his mouth, no sound escaping for a moment. When he finally did speak, his tone was amicable, yet nervous.

“Uhm, yeah. Sorry I’m late. There’s this party going on downstairs for all these…adult…film stars or something and—anyway, security was kind enough to show me the way.” He paused, then, tilting his head up. “Wow, you are _not_ what I was expecting.”

“That so?” A curt laugh escaped Troy. “You even look at my profile or did you just answer my message for the hell of it?” 

“I did. Look. At the important stuff. I mean, I’m not gonna hook up with the first person who throws me a bone. That’d be crazy.”

“Would it really?”

“I’ve never done it before.”

“Nah, true. You don’t seem the type.” Grin suddenly lighting up his face, Troy stepped aside, gesturing. “Amazeballs as this conversation is, I’d rather we not have it out in the hallway.”

“Oh. Right.”

Shifting his weight, the man hesitated a moment. But only for a moment. With a soft click, Troy closed the door behind him, turning to see he was admiring the room.

“You want to remain anonymous, or you prefer I call you something?” Troy passed the man on his way to the fridge in the suite’s open kitchen, no longer able to keep his robotic parts from view. “Or I could just call you CompanyMan unironically.”

“No, uh. I’m Rhys. Spell that however you see fit. Because I won’t tell you. The security guard—he said you’re Eros?” 

Rhys finally turned towards Troy, his eyes widening as he took in the man’s robotic limb for the first time.

“Ah, shit, is that what that asshole said? Do me a favor and forget he ever told you that.”

“Already forgotten.”

“And you can call me Troy.” Opening the fridge, Troy turned to Rhys to ask him a question, noticing the way he was staring. Shaking his head, he wriggled his metal fingers at him. “It’s just an arm, dude. It can’t hurt you. Well, unless you ask me to hurt you with it.”

For a brief moment, Rhys’ eyes bulged even wider. But then he seemed to calm down, letting out a nervous chuckle.

“Not my thing. Also not why I was staring.” 

In an awkward gesture, Rhys held up his right hand, his smooth chrome fingers catching the light and glinting. At first, Troy almost wasn’t sure what he was looking at. But then Rhys rolled up his sleeve and he caught the metallic structure of the man’s forearm, the artificial limb disappearing further beyond the material.

“Bad ass,” Troy said with a nod of approval. “I don’t recognize the corporation or model, though. Who’d you let slap you with their brand? You work for one of them, right, or is that too personal?”

“It’s fine. I’m with Atlas. But this isn’t their work. I built this myself. Well, designed it. The computer mostly built it after I programmed it and all that kind of stuff. But, it’s still my design.”

“No way. Built my own too. _Without_ computers. From _scrap_.”

“I didn’t use scrap. I guess you’d call it recycled components. I finagled a couple things to run on pre-used materials.”

“Pretty impressive. And I’ll tell you now, it takes a lot to impress me. Not that you should be intimidated or anything.” Reaching inside the fridge, Troy yanked out a colorful can and cracked it open. “You want something to drink? I got water or energy shit. Sorry, no alcohol. More like you can’t have any, actually. Might as well sign over my soul with the cost of one of these bottles. And, unfortunately, I might be GodTier, but I haven’t quite mastered turning water to wine.”

Despite the questions he had about why someone residing in the presidential suite couldn’t afford the champagne that came with it, Rhys found himself amused by the latter quip and half-grinned.

“Water’s fine. Does that mean room service is out of the question?”

Bottle of water retrieved, Troy closed the fridge with his bare foot and crossed the space between them.

“Yup,” he said, and handed the bottle over. Slamming back a long gulp of his own e-drink, he wiped his mouth with his flesh arm. “But, honestly, if you need more than me to satisfy yourself, then I don’t think room service is gonna do you any good.”

Rhys was just taking a sip of his water when he felt something bulky and unyielding snake around him, pressing up against his back through his shirt. He knew it was Troy’s mechanical prosthetic without looking, and he tensed when it locked so securely around him.

Troy leaned in close. “You going to freak out on me if I pick you up?”

Looking utterly confused, Rhys shook his head.

“Try not to dump that water on me, will ya?”

And then Troy was setting his drink down on an end table and Rhys was airborn. He let out a quiet noise of surprise despite knowing exactly what was about to happen, trying desperately to balance his full bottle of water as the giant of a man hoisted him almost caveman style. Luckily the trip wasn’t far. They were crossing into a low-lit bedroom, kingsize bed arranged so neat and tidily that Troy looked out of place when he lowered himself to the edge of it. Taking Rhys’ water, he tilted the mouth to the other man’s lips until he was forced to drink, pulling away quickly enough as to not make him choke. Then he tossed it away, arc of water cutting through the air, bottle thumping against the carpet and soaking it through. 

Seconds later, he was moving in for the kill. Rhys’ lips tasted like spearmint and effervescence. Almost a little too artificially clean. But Troy was used to that, and it was better than the alternative. At first, the other man was nigh unresponsive, and he thought maybe he had moved too fast. It wouldn’t be the first time he made too quick a move. Then Rhys was shifting against him, pressing into his space, the motion subtle at first. But then he could feel warm digits gliding against his skin, latching on. A bit disappointed it was Rhys’ human hand and not his cybernetic, Troy guessed that was to be expected. He knew from experience that, unless prompted, it was just a natural instinct to use the more human aspect of yourself. It tended to feel better and freak people out less.

Of course, there was a whole slew of individuals who were _only_ attracted to the robotic parts, and that tended to get…interesting.

When Rhys finally pulled away, his lips were red and swollen, his eyes not quite glazed over with lust but encroaching on it. However, there was a sharpness to his features that look strained.

“This is getting too uncomfortable,” he blurted out, sending all Troy’s heated thoughts to a grinding halt.

The curtain of lust rising once more to unveil reality, it took a moment for Troy to find his voice.

“Shit, sorry,” he said, absolutely meaning it. “We can—”

“No, uh.” Rhys gestured to where he’d folded his long legs under him so that he could properly settle in Troy’s lap, his feet hanging off the mattress. “This is doing hell on my knees. Not as spry as I used to be.”

Swiping hair from his face, Troy sighed. “Should’ve said something sooner,” he said and flopped unceremoniously on to his back, catching himself on his elbows at the last minute. 

“I kind of got a little distracted there.”

At Rhys’ grin, Troy bared his fangs, so to speak, metal incisors and bottom teeth on full display. Rhys didn’t look too taken aback by the artificial fixtures, or at least not outwardly. Maybe Atlas HQ was freakier than Troy knew. Pulling the other man down, he planted his hand firmly on his ass, got a good grip that was partially practical and partially titillating, and shifted them both further along the bed. Part of his legs were still dangling off when he settled again, but they wouldn’t fit no matter what, and Rhys now had room to stretch out his lanky form. Which he did, kicking off his shoes in the process.

“Better?” Troy asked.

“Yeah.” Rhys glanced at the foot of the bed. “You’d think they’d make the beds bigger in the presidential suite. Hell, _my_ bed back home is bigger. It’s like—” There was a definite amused twist to the man’s lips. “It’s literally god-sized.”

“That’s nice, Rhys.” 

Darting in, Troy’s tongue snaked out, licking along the dark ink circle on the side of his neck, tracing it. The man sighed at the stimulation of such an erogenous zone, eyes fluttering half-shut. 

That was it. Troy knew he had him now. 

And he had no qualms moving his hand to work open the topmost button of Rhys’ shirt. It popped free, as did the second, revealing a pale expanse of unblemished skin streaked only by the vibrant blue markings of a tribal tattoo. Still, a lot of it remained uncovered, and Troy only had so much patience left in him. He found himself popping the rest of the buttons, leaving them unripped only by shear luck, his tongue moving lower, dragging along Rhys’ collar bone as the garment finally parted for him. Blunt nails scraped against the man’s chest as Troy pawed at him blindly, seeking out a nipple, giving an aggressive tug to the hard nub when he did. The smallest whimper escaped Rhys, but he didn’t protest, Troy snickering against his skin as he worked to remove the shirt entirely. Eventually it was gone, and he moved back some so he could admire his partner’s semi-bare form.

“Hot fucking tatt, dude.” His pale blue eyes fell upon the space where skin met the chrome plating of a shoulder socket then the smooth expanse of metal that made up the entire arm. The streamlined and flawless form was broken only by the slightest outline of a joint or necessary segmentation. “Fuck, I just wanna….” 

Groping Rhys’ ass again with both hands this time, Troy used the leverage to grind his hips upward. The other man’s slacks were just tight and thin enough to tell he was already hard, the solid mass of his erection causing sweet friction against Troy’s own.

“Y-you’re pretty hot yourself,” Rhys gasped out, bearing down with his own hips, making Troy hiss in a breath. “The hell good deed did I do to even get your attention?”

“Flattery will get you everywhere. And where you’re going, you won’t be needing something as dumbnuts as pants.” 

With that, Troy’s hand was fumbling at Rhys’ belt. Not the easiest task to do without a second hand, but he was well practiced. Amused by the Atlas logo buckle, he made quick work of unclipping it, his prize the access to Rhys’ button and zipper, which were no obstacle. Shoving his hand into the constricting gap between slacks and underwear, he elicited his first real moan from Rhys with a simple caress.

“Woo, got me a sensitive boy here.” Troy latched on to the bulge beneath his palm, Rhys’ breath hitching. “Haven’t had one of those in a long time. You’re just killing it, Rhys.”

There were definitely times when having an oversized robotic appendage was considered an advantage. It didn’t really lend itself well to moments of sexual desperation, though. Such, Troy had to relinquish his grip on the other man to get his own pants undone. Luckily he tended to wear garments that had easy access, and he didn’t have the hindrance of underwear to worry about. Tugging his pants out of the way, he wasted no time in extracting himself, his velveteen foreskin brushing against Rhys’ abdomen and beyond as his length sprung forth.

Looking down at the sensation, the expression on Rhys’ face froze, lips parting as he went considerably pale.

”This isn't an art museum,” Troy remarked when it became apparent Rhys wasn’t looking away anytime soon. “You're supposed to touch it.”

“That….” Voice going weak and fading out, Rhys gulped, Adam’s apple bobbing. “Wha…that’s like….”

“I know,” Troy said, voice smug as he arched the massive length against his partner. “Meet my pride and joy.”

As Rhys began to slide down him, Troy’s pulse quickened, his excitement growing till it was a swollen mass threatening to crush him. His cock throbbed at the very thought of what Rhys was about to do, and he had to keep himself from squirming in place.

Instead of stopping at his hips, though, Rhys kept right on going until he was moving off the bed and his feet were on the ground. For an immeasurable time he remained in an awkward position, poised as if he were a critter in the middle of the road staring down an oncoming vehicle. Then he was slipping into his shoes, doing up his pants, and grabbing his shirt.

“What the hell’s going on?” Troy finally questioned, sitting up and gesturing with his robotic hand. “Rhys?”

The man thrust his arms into the sleeves of his shirt but didn’t button it back up. 

“I…just…I gotta go.”

“Are you _serious?_”

Rhys just nodded and backed up toward the bedroom entrance, stumbling when he stepped right on the water bottle that had been discarded earlier. He turned, then, fleeing the room, heading towards the front entrance. It took several heartbeats for Troy to even realize he was most definitely leaving, and when he was finally spurred to follow, he nearly tripped over himself in his haste.

“Dude!” he called, even as Rhys was slipping out the door. Without even tucking his dick back into his pants, he followed, the other man’s long legs carrying him at a clipped pace down the hall, right past the elevators. “Come on, don’t just leave! Whatever it is I did we can chat about.”

But the other man was already disappearing past the exit for the stairwell, not even glancing back. Having quickened his pace, Troy was fast, but not fast enough. The exit clattered shut and somehow that halted him in his tracks. Standing there dumbfounded, he took a few deep breaths, feeling a familiar nagging at the back of his mind.

“Alright, well—call me at least!” 

Only a split second later he realized Rhys didn’t even have his ECHO number, and that seemed to sap him of all rational thought. He was overcome by a sudden and debilitating sense of emptiness followed by a solar flare of unadulterated ire. Closing up his pants, he stomped back to his suite, properly angry by the time he entered once more. There was a coffee table directly in his line of sight, unfinished wood with some expensive scripted motif etched into it to form intricate wildlife patterns. He spent a few moments glaring at it. Then he was putting his foot through it, snapping and breaking the structure as if a child had constructed it with toy blocks.

That sole piece of furniture probably had a price tag to rival the salary of a single scene shoot. Miranda was going to string him up by his balls for that. He didn’t care. Eyeing the energy drink he’d left on the end table earlier, his gaze traveled instead to the mini-bar.

Fuck it. He’d already done his damage in expenses. He was cracking open these bottles and getting completely shitfaced. It beat dragging himself back downstairs to deal with the schmoozers and the actual physical presence of Miranda just to get to the mountain of head candy. 

Choosing a bottle at random, the little console on the bar deployed a holo pop-up asking him if he was sure he wanted to proceed. He punched it, breaking the mechanism so that it shorted and faded out of existence. Then he flopped on to the couch, tipped the bottle to his lips, and did his damnedest to drink down half its contents in one gulp. If he wasn’t so angry as to be distracted, he might of managed it. But he ended up choking part of the way through, a good portion cascading down his chin. 

It was no bother. He had the whole rest of the night to drown himself.

When he awoke the next day, still intoxicated and stumbling around until he found his ECHO device, he decided he’d message Rhys via the VAULTHUNTERS app, try to wrangle an explanation out of him. 

It was too late, though.

CompanyMan had deleted his entire profile and ceased to exist.


	2. Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major spoilers for this part. It's meant to take place approximately two months after Part I, after the vault on Promethea has been opened.

**Some Weeks Later**

It had started with a simple nagging at the back of Troy’s head. 

He’d been tapping into the Vault Thieves ECHO communications for some time now, or at least the COV had been busy transcribing them. The first time the name Rhys had come up, he had thought nothing of it. It wasn’t the most common name in the galaxies, but it wasn’t exactly unique either. 

Over time, though, the pieces started to come together.

The Rhys in the logs worked for Atlas. No, correction. He was the Atlas _CEO_.

The Rhys Troy had met had also worked for Atlas, but he’d never come off as someone in charge of the entire company. At least not outwardly. Also, it was sort of preposterous for the Atlas CEO to be on VAULTHUNTERS looking for a hook-up. 

Then again, it was also out there to propose that Troy would ever be on it himself.

The Rhys in the logs didn’t sound like the Rhys Troy had met. At least, not at first.

But with consideration for distortion and interference and sometimes the general sloppiness of the COV’s methods, it began to sound more familiar with every listen. The inflections were the same, the nuances. Both Rhys’ had a certain high-strung quality that was as charming as it was distinct.

The Rhys in the logs, once visuals had been mined, was distinctly different in appearance; distinctly, but not entirely.

The man who kept showing up appeared older than the Rhys Troy knew. From what had been garnered, he was also in his 30’s. That _was_ older than what CompanyMan had listed, but it wasn’t like people didn’t knock a few years off their age on those apps all the time. Also, this man had a completely different prosthetic. It was on the same side of his body, just nothing like the chrome appendage Troy had seen. There was also an ECHO eye that Rhys had most _definitely_ not had. And a mustache that, well—you couldn’t grow something that full in a few weeks without some help, right? Though it was a stretch, it was still in the realm of possibility that Rhys had a twin brother who ran the company. After all, Troy was a twin himself running a goddam cult with his sister.

It was something simple that eventually convinced Troy that his Rhys and the Atlas CEO were one in the same. The circular tattoo, on his neck. Troy was far from a stupid man. If Rhys did have a twin, and they both had that same tattoo, it would have been on the opposite side. It was an absolute of twin logic. 

That, and there were now way too many other coincidences for that logic not to feel sound.

Troy had almost fucked the Atlas CEO. And the Atlas CEO, now an ally of the COV’s sworn enemies, had walked out on him without even the courtesy of an explanation. 

What the _fuck_ was his life even?

He’d told Tyreen, after they’d left the vault in The Forgotten Basilica after he’d sapped the blue-haired bitch out of existence, that he had unfinished business on Promethea and not to wait up. She had been concerned to say the least, especially with how erratic he had become after absorbing such a wealth of power. Finally quelling her with a spun tale of how Miranda had set up an impromptu shoot for him before he left, he hoped she didn’t contact the agent if he took longer than he planned. Miranda had been murderous about what he had done in the suite, bitching at him for days and making his star life a living hell. He didn’t need Tyreen bringing her wrath down on him as well for blatantly deceiving her.

Not that he wasn’t perfectly in the right to do so with all the deception she’d spun around him over the years. He’d gone along with it without ever calling her out much. But that was neither here nor there.

On the steps of Atlas HQ, he noticed there was still a lull in security, the Atlas troops spread thin as they picked up the pieces of the Maliwan invasion and were still being pressed by the fanatical COV forces. For that to stop, Troy and Tyreen would have to call them off themselves, and neither of them really wanted to invest the energy to do so. They had bigger things to consider.

Right now, though, Troy was only focused on a sole purpose. 

The Atlas lobby was not as abandoned as he’d hoped. He made short work of the few soldiers there that attempted to resist him, leaving them alive but incapacitated. Shit, that siren’s powers were the _tits_. He just really hoped he didn’t run into that freakish assassin that Atlas had under their employ. If there was one thing he didn’t want right now, as he dipped into the elevator, it was a challenge.

It didn’t take long to make his way up to the CEO’s office. Nobody else came to welcome him with a hail of bullets, either. He stepped out into an empty reception room and then the office itself, a sprawling crimson affair peppered with classically styled furniture and mountains of books. To either side of him stood two towering aquariums rife with various aquatic life. And past that, standing at the enormous window overlooking Meridian, was just the person he was after.

Rhys’ back was turned to him, and from this point of view, he could see the structure of his cybernetic arm was a lot more articulated and complex than the chrome one he’d had. If he’d come to the hotel with this vibrant red model, Troy may have honestly been even more attracted to him. The CEO must have heard him coming, because he twisted his head around, lips parting to speak.

“Is that you, Zer0? I….” 

His words were cut short as his eyes fell on Troy’s approaching form, the circuitry of his ECHO eye whirring to life as his eyes widened. Spinning around completely, he pressed himself against the glass, holding up his hands as if he could ward the other man off.

Troy made it as far as the plain desk standing between them, footsteps coming to a halt as he regarded Rhys with a narrowed look. Hand sweeping off whatever debris was scattered on the desk’s surface, he parked his ass on top of it, his eyes never leaving the other man.

“Hey, Rhys,” he said, voice neutral. “Funny meeting you here. Or maybe not so funny, considering you just happen to be the fucking Atlas CEO. I have to say, I think I liked you better without the ‘stache.”

Jaw working, Rhys seemed at a loss for words. Then he shook his head, the strain in his voice making it high and thin.

“Oh—oh, shit. Oh, man. So this—_how_ did you even get in here? I’m going to die. I’m going to die, and it’s going to be because Troy Calypso just waltzed right in to my office and tore me apart before I could even put expansion plans for Atlas into effect. I can’t breath. I think…I think I’m going to be sick.”

“So you _do_ remember our night together? This should make this so much less of a goddam chore.”

“Our what?” Rhys let out a burp of nervousness, covering his mouth and squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. “Ugh, shouldn’t have had that grilled cheese for lunch.” The hand dropped to his cybernetic forearm where it looked like he was adjusting something. “Don’t know what you’re referring to. Trying not to pass out and get killed while I’m unconscious. Though I guess it beats being awake while you fucking just murder me.”

The tall Calypso had pushed himself off the desk and was reaching to grab Rhys’ cybernetic wrist with his flesh hand. He paused as his fingers circled around it, blinking at the CEO.

“So you’re going to pretend that you didn’t almost end up literally sleeping with the enemy. Tsk, and here I thought we were totally down with each other that night.” With his robotic fingers, he reached up and gripped Rhys’ chin, his palm nearly engulfing the hyperventilating man’s lower jaw. “Also, you want to calm down and explain why you’re so convinced I’m here to tears out your guts and chew on ‘em? I mean, sure. My people hooked up with Maliwan against your’s and that’s me and my sister’s bad cos it’s totally not any personal beef with you. And you, like, baited me on a hook-up app and then decided you were out for whatever reason. But I’m open to hearing your side of it.” 

Seized as he was, there wasn’t much Rhys could do to help himself. Still, he seemed adamant about his words.

“That’s absurd. Me, on a hook-up app? Nobody would ever contact me on that! And I bet whoever you’re referring to didn’t even have the kind of cybernetics I have.”

“ECHO eye’s easy enough to hide. He also _did_ have a cybernetic arm. The port, that’s new. But you wouldn’t know they had anything at all, am I right? Because, oh yeah, you weren’t actually there.” Pressing in closer, Troy was almost flush with the other man, leaning in so that their lips were nearly touching. “Just admit it, Rhys. You were totally dee-tee-eff that night. Then you bailed like a prude virgin.”

By this time, Rhys’ breathing had grown staccato, his body trembling and his pupils blown. Sweat had beaded on his forehead, and there was a soft, high-pitched whistling coming from his throat. Then his eyes were rolling into the back of his head and he ragdolling in Troy’s grip. For a moment, the man was baffled by the deadweight. Until he realized what had happened.

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” he growled to himself, attempting to shake Rhys awake to no avail. “You’re real, real lucky I happen to like you. Cos I typically don’t got the patience for this shit.”

Hefting the man’s unconscious form up, he slung him over his shoulder with ease; strangely reminiscent of when he’d carried Rhys to the suite bedroom that night. Looking around for a place he could set the CEO down comfortably, his eyes fell on one of the couches. It seemed too small and unyieldy, but it might do. There was also a spiral staircase leading upwards in a room off to the side, though, and Troy had to admit that he was curious and liked this excuse to explore the office unhindered. 

Deciding, he climbed the steps, emerging into what he could describe as a type of studio apartment, albeit a classy and spacious one. Most of the place looked standard for any thirty-something bachelor. A few dishes in the sink, a stray coffee mug or two, open bags of junk food in the holo-screen area that were neatly rolled up and clipped off for freshness. Troy’s eyes finally fell on the bed which, in a sense, could qualify as being made. To his astonishment, he realized Rhys hadn’t lied to him. Well, at least about that. Taking up most of the room where it was situated, the bed really _was_ god-sized. Why the hell did he even need a bed this big? 

Troy set Rhys down, wincing as the man all but thunked on to the mattress and settled into a tangle of limbs. He really should’ve probably been more careful, but honestly he didn’t think a little rough landing on a cushy mattress was going to damage the CEO too much. Arranging him so he didn’t wake up with any cramps or aches, removing his shoes in the process, Troy was set to start snooping around. Rhys shivered in his sleep, and though the other man knew it probably had nothing to do with being cold, he shrugged out of his jacket, tossing it over him without a second thought.

There were a lot of nooks and crannies in the apartment, a plethora of spaces to cram personal belongings and even corporate secrets. Not that Troy really gave a flying fuck about those. In all honesty, he just wanted to find some shit out about Rhys, maybe use something as possible leverage, but since it didn’t seem like he owned a personal computer, Troy was left with paper tomes and other material objects. He found actual physical pictures, photostock paper printed with the faces of nobody the Calypso twin recognized. And there was also a rather large hunk of Pandoran rock that looked smeared with dried blood in the vague shape of a face? Troy sniffed it then wrinkled his nose. Yeah, that was definitely old blood. Other than that, it wasn’t really interesting, and he set it back where he’d found it.

After a bit, Troy was under the impression he wasn’t going to find anything very satisfying curiosity wise. Rhys seemed like a plain old vanilla company man. That profile name kind of made sense now. Just as he was about to give up and just watch ECHOtube or something while he waited, the toe of his boot collided with the edge of something shoved into a wall pocket of the one walk-in closet. Looking down, he noticed an unassuming box of medium size, locked but not with anything remotely secure. Since its placement was deliberately out of the way, Troy had to yank it out, flip the latch locks. With what he saw inside, he may as well have found a wealth in treasure.

If he’d deemed Rhys vanilla, maybe he’d been a _bit_ wrong in that assumption. Within the box, placed almost too carelessly to seem like Rhys’ doing, lay an assortment of sexual toys. A quick sorting through with just his eyes relayed that most were indeed of an insertable persuasion. There were one or two strokers, and absolutely nothing more than average length. 

Well, if anything, it was good to know the man hadn’t been lying in his profile about being a bottom.

Leaving the box open, Troy straightened up and made his way over to an armchair, which he draped himself over. His mind was abuzz with increasing thoughts of Rhys using those toys on himself, and when he looked over at the prone man, he couldn’t block out the memory of how much sexual chemistry there’d been between them just making out on that hotel bed.

Such a rarity for him. Doing porn shoots was physically satisfying, occasionally fun, but that was usually _all_ it was. The desire had been so tangible and organic with Rhys. And something he had done had gone and fucked it all up.

Only he couldn’t figure out just what that was, and Rhys wasn’t telling. 

Yet.

It took some time, but the man on the bed eventually stirred. A leg stretched out from beneath the coat followed by a cybernetic arm. There was a groan, Rhys’ form shifting upward, his eyes cracking open.

“Man, that was the strangest—” Rhys’ gaze fell on Troy sitting in the chair, a sharp intake of breath escaping him. He let it out slowly. “Dream.” 

“Oh? Well, are you sure? I consider myself pretty dreamy, but I’m definitely solid. Wanna touch and see?”

His breath starting to quicken, Rhys shoved the coat off of him and clutched at his chest.

“Whoa, hey, calm down.” Rising in one fluid motion, Troy edged closer to the bed. “I don’t need you passing out on me again. For fuck’s sake, I just want to talk.”

“What the hell could I possibly have to say to you?” 

“You could start with an apology maybe?”

“Why should I apologize to someone who led a goddam invasion against the corporation I’m currently running?”

His voice cracking with the strain, Rhys moved his hand to the back of his neck, rubbing it.

Troy’s fist clenched at his side.

“So, you’re finally admitting it? That _was_ you that night, in the hotel room.”

“Fine. It was me. But I had no idea who the fuck you were, and if I had, I never would have messaged you back.”

Somehow that softened the edges of Troy’s expression, his muscles relaxing, his eyes crinkling with the slightest amusement. 

“But you just couldn’t resist me.” Creeping up with slow ease, a smirk brushed against Troy’s lips, beginning to up-end the corners of his mouth. “I know. It’s a struggle for many people.”

“No, I…just needed to get laid.” His voice dipping into something more controlled, Rhys’ shoulders heaved. “I was over-worked, I was stressed, and I had this—this _asshole_ from Maliwan stalking me. You were the first guy to message me.” A dry laugh erupted from him, so quick it expired as soon as it had pierced the air. “I guess if you’re over thirty and looking for a top in this city, you may as well be a corpse. That’s why, ah, the age change.”

“I don’t know.” Stepping even closer, Troy stopped at the edge of the bed, towering over Rhys who, despite his own generous height, looked like a single star against the void of space. “I kind of like older dudes. They know what they’re doing.”

“Flattery _won’t_ get you everywhere.”

“What a shame. I was under the sole impression that it did.”

“Sure, if you’re working with the right material. And as you can see.” Seeming to slump in place, Rhys gestured to himself. “I’m not.” He paused, sighing and closing his eyes. “But, moving on, seems you’re not here to kill me. And you’ve already gotten your answer. I can’t fathom why, then, you’re still hanging around.”

“I haven’t gotten squat, duder.” Troy made a movement with his robotic hand towards the bed and after a moment Rhys shrugged. The male siren lowered himself till he was sitting on the mattress, scooting back a bit. “You still haven’t told me what the hell happened that night.”

“You really don’t know? Well, Troy, let me tell you, then.” When Rhys opened his eyes again, the ECHO one was burning a bright blue. “After showing up and thinking how _actually really hot_ you were and getting _really_ into it, you go and just whip out this monster from your pants that you only ever see in, like, pornography. I have no idea how at this point you can’t figure out that I _might’ve_ had a problem with that.”

“Yeah, only in porn is sure right.” Squinting, Troy rubbed his chin with a single human finger. “Wait, are you actually serious? _That’s_ your answer? Holy shit, that’s golden. You have to be the first guy I’ve met that’s ever complained.”

“That’s me. A bottom who can’t even properly bottom.”

“Now hold up. I ain’t trying to criticize you. I’m just stating a fact. I mean, most of your type are just throwing themselves at me for it. It’s fucking ridiculous.” Seeing that there was no change in Rhys’ expression, Troy reached over and poked Rhys in the arm. “You should be feeling lucky. You’re maybe one of the handful that don’t make me instantly want to commit murder. Which, honestly, I’d prefer to fucking them.”

Skin waning to pallidness, Rhys looked stricken. Having realized he might’ve been spouting off too liberally, Troy cleared his throat and attempted some self constraint.

“Present company excluded, obviously,” he said, voice as smooth as he could manage. That didn’t seem to shift his companion much, at least not in any way visible, so he switched tactics. “Hey, just forget about it.”

“Forget you just said you’d rather murder people. Right.”

“Not exactly what I meant.” 

“So you’re saying you don’t mean what you just said? Please, enlighten me. Because I’m really confused right now.”

With a heaving sigh, Troy bared metallic fangs at the other man.

“The hell you being so difficult about this for, Rhys?”

“Because there’s a murderous psychopath sitting on my bed with me after breaking into my office and giving me a heart attack, and he wants to know why I wouldn’t let him fuck me with his—how big even is that thing?”

By the time Rhys finished rambling, he’d run out of air, his voice barely above a squeak. He was breathing hard, Troy heaving his non-metal shoulder in a shrug.

“Like, almost a foot, last I checked.”

“A—a _what_?”

“You doubting me?” It was subtle, but there; that flicker of Rhys’ gaze, as his eyes crawled down to the crotch of Troy’s pants and lingered just long enough for the male siren to figure out what he was thinking. Troy’s hand went to his belt buckle. “I could show you again. Wait, you got that ECHO eye, right? You could probably just scan it.”

“No,” Rhys said sharply, his gaze jerking up, cheeks flushing bright crimson. “That’s not what I meant at all.”

A few flicks of Troy’s thumb and fingers, and the belt buckle made a satisfying clicking noise as it released.

“You absolutely sure about that?”

“What the hell are you doing? Of course I’m sure.”

“Funny. Don’t think you are.” It didn’t take much for Troy to lean into the CEO’s space, all but willing him to immobility with his icy gaze and smarmy smirk. “I’m gonna kiss you now, Rhys. And if you don’t show any resistance, we’ll finally finish that rager we started.”

“Oh, God,” Rhys breathed.

“I appreciate the sentiment, but formal titles aren’t necessary.”

Rhys’ face was ablaze at this point, the flush creeping to the tips of his ears and down his neck. He had every opportunity to defend himself, pull out a hidden arsenal and try to obliterate Troy’s very existence. The siren had no doubt the Atlas CEO kept his bedroom well-stocked with an assortment of self defense weaponry. Only the man did nothing of the sort, opting to remain statuesque as if Troy had spun some intricate web around him.

Well, the siren had warned him. 

Making sure to reach with his flesh and blood appendage so that it didn’t look like he was trying to use excessive force, Troy wound his arm around the man’s back, drawing him in. It was almost like that night again, the chemistry between them stacked and continuing to ascend into unbridled desire. Rhys wasn’t quite as receptive as he’d been back then, but they had all the time in the world right now for that to shift.

And shift Troy was certain it would. 

Mouth colliding with Rhys’, the man’s mustache a bristling caress, there was nothing subtle or leisurely about the way he kissed the other man. Troy’s lips demanded attention, reception, pleasure; giving in the amounts that it wanted back in equal value. This time around, he noticed Rhys tasted more organic, perhaps even faintly of his aforementioned lunch. Strangely, that endeared Troy to him even more.

Though the CEO remained stoic, the siren decided to step up his game anyway. With a few subtle adjustments, Rhys was being dragged closer, Troy’s tongue simultaneously delving past his lips. Rhys’ hand scrabbled at his shoulder, long fingers digging into tattooed flesh as he made the smallest of noises. There was a gasp as he suddenly drew his head back, his head shaking.

“I really shouldn’t be doing this,” he whispered, gaze refusing to land on the other man. “There are so many good goddam reasons why I _really_ shouldn’t be doing this.”

“And one epically good one,” Troy added. “Hell, you’re practically sitting in that reason’s lap.”

Scowling, Rhys turned his head away so he wasn’t burdened with dealing with Troy at the moment. The siren had other plans, however. Like a striking serpent, he latched on to a pale expanse of neck with his teeth, applying pressure until he was wrangling a response. Spun from the crescendo of pain clashing against budding pleasure, Rhys groaned deeply, Troy making his move while he was unaware. The CEO was on his back before he realized what was happening, Troy’s form practically engulfing him from above. A hand came down, smoothed upwards until it was tugging at the collar of Rhys’ shirt. 

“You going to help me take these off or what?” Troy’s voice was practically dripping with barely wrangled lust. His tongue ran along the edge of his teeth, coiling against a glinting false fang. “Only got this one hand to work with.”

As if in emphasis, he flexed his robotic fingers, which were planted on the bed to support his weight. Rhys glanced at the cybernetic, noting how close it was to his head, then huffed.

“Keep those teeth to yourself, thank you,” he said, wriggling until he’d worked his vest down his arms. 

That seemed to please Troy. Unlike their last time together, he simply tore at the shirt until the material was straining, the buttons popping open like rounds of ammo being fired from a Jakob’s pistol. 

“Look, just because you seem to have no problem walking around shirtless doesn’t mean that I am. You just ruined a perfectly good Oxford.”

“Say wha?”

“My shirt. You ruined a perfectly good work shirt.”

“You’ll get over it.”

“No, I—_what_ the hell?”

While Rhys had been bitching, Troy had lowered his mouth to his exposed skin, licking a warm, wet trail from navel to the waistband of his pants. The buckle was made short work of, and the male siren was taking up the hook and eye between his jaws, working them apart with skill born of practice.

“Holy shit.”

Troy’s gaze traveled up to Rhys, giving him an impish look as he tugged open his zipper. Last time, he hadn’t gotten to see even a glimpse of the goods. This time, he was going to make sure he remedied that. He was eager, giddy; way too eager, like he’d never gotten laid in his life. A finger traced the outline of Rhys’ dick in his boxer-briefs before all out pawing at him, the man grunting, squirming. Troy used the movements to his advantage, tugging the CEO’s pants sloppily down his lean thighs, not even savoring the moment as he slipped the elastic band of his underwear down along with it. Rhys’ cock sprang forth, surprising Troy with how aroused he already was, the head flushed even deeper than his skin. He couldn’t take his eyes off it as he shimmied the garments further down, not able to work them past the bends in Rhys’ knees. The CEO was no help there, and Troy, short on patience and capability to communicate his wishes, wedged his hand between the comforter and Rhys’ form, flipping him on to his stomach as if he were a lightweight.

“Do you just _have_ to manhandle me or what?” Rhys sputtered, shooting a glare over his shoulder. “If we’re actually going to do this, you could at least have a little decency.”

“You were just fine with it last time.”

There was the shifting of the comforter beneath them, Troy’s arm making very distinct mechanical whirs and clanks in Rhys’ ears as it shifted to pat him on the head. He almost swatted it away before he realized that would be a very, very bad idea. It was gone after a moment anyway, helping to straighten out Rhys’ legs and get the rest of his clothing removed without anymore hassle. Then it came to rest on his ass, the alloy of the appendages just warm enough not to be jarring. He could feel Troy’s hand working to get the rest of his shirt off, smoothing over the slats of his spine when he did.

“Aw, I was half-expecting you to have some more sick tatts.” The disappointment in Troy’s voice sounded genuine. “Shame. I could hook you up, tap this blank canvas like an untouched eridium mine.”

“Uh, I’ll pass, thanks. That was more a thing in my youth. Had to sow my wild oats.”

“Come on, cut the shit. I’ve seen old assholes. You ain’t one of them.”

Rhys didn’t get a chance to retort. His ass cradled in Troy’s uncannily gentle grip, the other man had shifted positions, the illuminated interlock of his spinal rig arching into the air as if he were some lanky predator stretching himself in preparation of a hunt. He may as well have been with Rhys’ reaction to his next move. The CEO yelped and flattened himself to the bed, as if that would somehow protect him from Troy’s ministrations.

“Don’t tell me,” Troy said, sounding, for the first time, exasperated. “You’ve never had your ass eaten out before.”

“No. I mean, it’s not _new_ new. It’s just not a luxury I’ve been privy to much. Busy life of a CEO doesn’t really constitute time for foreplay.”

“Sounds to me like you need some more chill time in your life, Rhys. You don’t see _me_ foregoing the necessities of awesome sex because I’m, oh no, way too busy for _that_. But you’re in luck. I happen to be wicked efficient in my technique.”

“That’s not really—”

But Troy had already plunged back for his prize, tongue passing in a wide arch against Rhys’ hole. The man tensed up and made a strangled sound as if his throat had been seized. Troy sniggered at the reaction, doing it again, this time with a much more languid pass, Rhys’ feet digging into the bed. The siren was relentless, though, refusing to give the other man time to process anything at all as he teased the tight ring of muscle with the tip of his tongue, swept circles around it until Rhys was whimpering. Finally he plunged his tongue inside, the CEO yielding to the ginger prodding, a moan wrangled from his depths. The sound went right to Troy’s cock, making his pants feel extra constricting. But he was keeping that monster leashed for now. It was better if Rhys’ mind was kept off its size until Troy was ready to use it.

“Saw your stash in the closet,” Troy said casually as he pulled away just enough to speak, voice barely above a growl. “Which one’s your ultimate fav?” 

When Rhys didn’t answer him right away, Troy used his tongue to draw attention, slipping it back inside the man, suctioning his lips to skin until the man was shivering from the top of his spine to the soles of his feet. Troy parted once more with a quick, messy lick to Rhys’ perineum. And then he was attempting the complex task of having to pull himself away and off the bed. Almost stumbling in the process, he found the box in the closet once more, dragging it out.

Rhys had turned his head, a single brown eye tracking the male siren’s movements. Only half his expression was visible, confusion scrawled across it; utter bafflement at how Troy had known about his stash.

“You pick,” he finally said after the silence had become an unwanted guest, his voice deadpan.

“Sweet.” 

There was enough room for Troy to up-end the box on to the bed, and he did so, the cascade of toys bouncing and flopping around as if infused with life. There wasn’t an amazing variety the CEO owned. But some were creative, to say the least. He picked up the largest one among the pile (which, compared to him, really wasn’t large at all) and held it aloft, its structure made up of some durable glass material, the details painstakingly sculpted into it and swirled with color, making it a near work of art.

“You sure this is a dildo?” Troy asked, the velvet edge of teasing evident in his voice. “Looks like someone’s horny-ass art project. Maybe you should just stick it on a shelf, and when people come over and ask what it is, you can tell them you stick it up your ass and watch their reactions.”

“Brilliant idea. Then I can just record it all and upload it to the ECHOnet for shits and giggles.”

“Now you’re getting it. Where do you keep your lube?”

“Bathroom.” Rhys stretched out his arm, pointed at an unassuming door that was built into the wall. “Topmost draw.”

“Oh-kay. Weird fucking place for it.”

Disappearing behind the door, Troy emerged again with bottle in hand, the mattress dipping as he knelt on it, crawling forth to contort himself into a comfortable position once more.

“That’s one fancy bathroom you got there,” he said, flicking the cap of the lube open, his grip so tight some of the viscous liquid was spat out of the nozzle at full force, hitting him almost in the eye. Luckily it sailed wide and just plummeted to the bed. “Maybe later we’ll get a chance to scrub each other clean in that oversized bath, eh?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Rude.” Troy had dumped enough lube on to his fingers that gossamer strands of stray liquid were dripping slowly down. He touched a blunt fingertip to Rhys’ hole, idly tracing it while the man’s breath hitched. “I would have totally let you try out that jacuzzi back at the hotel.”

Rhys said nothing, and Troy took that as the perfect opportunity to delve inside him; not too deeply, of course, and with little force. Just enough to hear that delicious expansion of breath roll into a whole nother sound entirely. He could feel the muscles around him clenching involuntarily, and he stroked the man’s hip with his robotic fingers to distract him. He didn’t want to think about what reactions were going to be sparked in the CEO when he penetrated him with his actual length, lest he get too prematurely excited. Not that he was worried about blowing his load before they even got started. That was far from a concern. He just didn’t want to go in half-assed, with Rhys ill-prepared and utterly miserable with discomfort. He’d seen the results of _that_ way too often. And, if he even allowed himself to indulge in his fantasies for more than a few idle moments, he wasn’t going to be able to hold himself back too long.

So, it was with that thought he slid his fingers out, palming the dildo he’d selected, his hand still slick with goop. When he was satisfied the sex toy was evenly lubed, he pressed the tip to Rhys’ hole, letting it settle so he could anticipate what was next to come. 

“You alright there?” he asked casually, idly toying with Rhys’ body.

“What makes you think I’m not?” Rhys said on a casual note. “Just don’t keep me in suspense.”

“And why’s that?” 

With a twist of his wrist and the slightest of pressure, Troy felt Rhys begin to part around the head of the dildo. The muscles in Rhys’ back flexed and bunched, the sinews moving almost hypnotically as his hips pushed back. 

“Simple,” Rhys replied after a few heartbeats. “I don’t like to be kept waiting.” 

Those words made Troy’s pulse quicken. He could feel his heart thunder in his chest. It was the most adamant thing the man had said to him thus far, and he could see a leader or men in those words, felt his first taste of Rhys having what it took to be at the top of the corporate food chain. 

Being enamored made him sloppy, though. Troy let the sex toy plunge much further in than he intended, the cry that erupted from the slip up far from one of protest. He felt his tongue become suddenly bereft of moisture, latching on to the bottom of his mouth. Slow, creeping fire was overtaking his veins. Perhaps he growled. Maybe not. He was suddenly very disinterested in simply taking a backseat to Rhys’ pleasure, and he wished that at least a little preparation wasn’t _absolutely_ necessary when it came to his size, and that he didn’t have such a cumbersome second limb. 

He wished a lot of things. But if he didn’t start actually putting something into effect, none of them were going to come to fruition.

The growing constriction in his pants was a very real concern as he thrust the dildo deeper. Soon it would become unbearable. Rhys’ moans were billowing into something more steady and boisterous as Troy worked him open, his pace even and easy, minutes invested into the process before the CEO was taking it up to the solid base. The glass had warmed considerably as he’d pleasured the CEO, soaking up their combined body heat until it felt like an extension of his arm, nothing between him and Rhys’ inner warmth. The pistoning of his movements transformed into something more forceful, jarring the body beneath him every time the dildo became engulfed.

Still, he couldn’t fathom how something so average in size could be anything less than satisfying compared to his own cock. And that was the thought that opened the floodgates.

Troy wrenched the dildo out of Rhys in one yank, the toy bouncing as he all but flung it on to the bed. Under the rhythm of Rhys’ heavy breathing, his own blood beat in his ears; a primal beat to serve as the backdrop to his raging voracity. He was practically drooling as he kicked off his shoes, his hand working open his pants.

From over his shoulder, Rhys had turned to watch him. As lizard-brained as Troy was at the moment, slave to his most basic of instincts, the scrutiny didn’t go unnoticed. The male siren made a circling motion with his forefinger.

“I’d prefer to see those pretty body mods while I’m busy making you scream,” he said, voice thick. 

It felt like it took too long for Rhys to comply as he gathered his limbs beneath him and pushed himself upward, managing to roll himself over and partially sit up. 

Pants almost ripping in the process of freeing himself from them, the clothing finally fell away, revealing the entirety of the towering, lanky form of Troy Calypso in all its bare, modded glory. He loomed over Rhys like a moon heavy on the horizon, encompassing the other man’s entire existence, becoming the god he so claimed to be. His cock jutted out before him, rigid and commandeering attention, the head barely peeking out from the foreskin glistening with beads of arousal.

The sweat on Rhys’ forehead was very real, stray hairs matted to it. 

“You’re not _really_ going to put that thing in me, are you?” he said, the quiver in his voice barely masked.

Troy boxed him in more, using his torso like a cage.

“What do you think, Rhys?”

With eyebrow cocked, Rhys answered, “It’s not going to fit. You should’ve prepped me more.”

“It’ll fit. Trust me, I’m a professional.”

“A professional what?”

Of average size, Rhys’ length was dwarfed against the backdrop of the monstrous erection hovering above it. Troy teased a finger down the other man’s straining flesh, smirking at the way his hips squirmed at the touch. 

“If you haven’t figured that out by now, then you never will.”

Lubing up took far longer this time. The contents of the clear bottle were considerably lessened, Troy working the substance over every bump and ridge of his anatomy, turning it into a glistening specimen, as if it were being prepared for museum display. The lube was almost depleted in its container, fat dollops poured from its dredges used to give Rhys a new slathering of the slippery fluid. The CEO had laid back and closed his eyes, and if it weren’t for the occasional flex of an appendage or wrinkling of features, he would have seemed asleep.

Not that he would’ve been able to sleep with what Troy was about to do to him.

Rhys’ eyes sprung open as something rigid and mechanical clamped around his thigh, joined on the other side of his torso by warm flesh whose strength was evident when his legs were pried apart. Troy’s hips jerked forward, hand wrangling the beast that was his cock and pushing back the foreskin as he guided it on the path to Rhys’ hole.

“Don’t really have an option for condoms,” he blurted out casually. “Sorry. I’m perfectly safe, though.” 

A cybernetic arm shot out in a blur of red paint, articulated fingers latching on to the puddle of chains spun around the man’s neck and yanking, Troy nearly toppling over. He and Rhys were a breadth apart, so close the only detail Troy could make out of the other man was the intricate network of robotic channels in his ECHO eye. 

“So help me, if you end up giving me Space Hurps, I am going to hunt you down and, oh, I am going to do things to you.”

“That’s _not_ how you get the Hurps, but whatever. Sounds hot.”

Rhys released him, flopping back to the bed with what sounded like all the air leaving his lungs at once. In that moment he was distracted, vulnerable, and Troy saw he probably wouldn’t be granted a better chance. The moment was rife for exploiting, and that he did by guiding himself to Rhys’ ass, prodding him with lightning strikes of anticipation sending his nerves haywire. He didn’t have quite as much girth as he did length, and that was advantageous at the moment, the swollen head sinking into bliss without too much effort.

Both men were cocooned in separate degrees of ecstasy. The muscles clenching like a vice around him, preventing his further entry, were just churning Troy’s passion into a choppy sea of frothy pleasure. It made the parts of him that were usually checked out during sexual performances quake as they rose from deep slumber, shedding their jaded skins. He might’ve been too eager, might’ve pushed forward earlier than Rhys was ready for. The cries that burst from the CEO weren’t those of discomfort, though. And they certainly weren’t phony, which bled satisfaction to the depths of Troy’s viscera.

“I knew getting a piece of your ass was going to be awesome,” he said, breath hitching so that the sentence was severed. 

Clinging to Troy was an act where impulse didn’t naturally roost. There were parts of him that looked delicate to the touch, and others on the opposite end of the spectrum, hard angles and sharp edges standing in the way of physical connection. Overburdened, though, Rhys’ hands sought contact without consideration, digging in to searing flesh.

“Don’t even think you’re going to be putting that entire thing in me.”

With a roll of Troy’s hips, Rhys’ breath caught in his lungs. The skin beneath his fingers rippled as he dragged his nails along it, a minute sound easing past his lips.

“You sure?” 

Troy repeated the movement, Rhys’ mouth gaping open to answer, locked in place by the invasion of his body and senses.

Upon the return of voluntary processes, all he could manage to gasp out was, “Oh, fuck.”

“That _is_ what we’re doing.” 

Typical men would have been balls deep at that point. But Troy wasn’t typical in any regards. Not even in the metaphysical sense when it came to his siren roots. Mouth falling upon the expanse of Rhys’ chest that wasn’t decorated in tattoo ink, Troy bit into the nipple there, lips sucking with a gentleness by comparison. Hands, both metallic and flesh, fumbled against the backs of Rhys’ thighs, forcing them back at an angle, plunging the cock inside him ever deeper. Back arching like a bowstring, Troy’s tongue moved upward along sternum, swathing against soft hollows of throat and beneath the soft curvature of jaw. Finding Rhys’ lips, he prodded them open, sealed himself to them once more, soft hairs tickling his skin again. Eager, Rhys was not to be outdone. The CEO’s tongue warred back with a ferocity Troy didn’t think he’d be able to wrangle out of him. 

Like a spring-loaded mechanism, his hips drew back, his length squeezed as Rhys seemed desperate to keep him locked in position. The man didn’t need to fear abandonment. Troy wasn’t planning on going anywhere. Not until Rhys was left reeling from the dicking of a lifetime. Nearly slipping out, he made an attempt to ease back in with careful consideration, losing his control at the moment when muscles pulsed around his cock and his world was reduced to intense levels of pressure and heat, chains around his neck rattling. Rhys moaned deeply against the seal of their lips, the sound muffled between them. He pulled away, then, staring up at Troy with a glazed expression, pupils blown wide.

“Fuck me,” he uttered, reduced, in that moment, to raw desperation.

That command, that permission—_that_ was the Rhys that Troy had met on VAULTHUNTERS, who had showed up to his suite as a bundle of conjoined anxious and lustful impulses. There was no denying what had been there in their brief whirlwind of intimacy, and here and now, it presented itself like an exotic bird unfurling its plumage. It was the perfect bait becoming the perfect trap. Mesmerized, Troy’s body was responding even before his mind was processing what he’d been granted. He worked himself out again, wanting the draw of sensation beyond comprehension and inevitable sound to guide him back inside, churn things into a bestial frenzy. It didn’t quite unravel that way. Not yet. He plunged back into the CEO without stuttering, only ceasing his forward momentum when he felt the easy glide start to chafe. Rhys was bearing down, preventing him from sheathing his entire length too soon, already shuddering with each breath as if Troy had stomped on a raw nerve inside him and had refused to let off on the pressure. 

That didn’t stop Troy from finding a rhythm where the balance worked to his advantage, lower half undulating, abdominal muscles going concave with each suck of sexually charged air. The whisper of his body driving into Rhys became like the rush of the tide, its backdrop the clash of Troy’s accessories against each other; metal striking metal. The man beneath him released an encouraging string of whimpers and whines, each one sounding like they’d expand to something more before bursting and crashing over Troy’s ears. It made the skin pull back from his teeth, his own breaths spiraling into heaving pants more suited to an animal. 

It wasn’t enough for him. Without being hilted, feeling the impact of bodies colliding and hearing the chorus of sounds it incited, things just didn’t feel completely satisfying. Maybe he was spoiled by his past exploits. That didn’t ease the feelings of deprivation, though. Still gripping Rhys’ legs, he contorted the man’s body even further, nearly bending him in half. His own position shifted as well, knees locking him into place as he adopted a wide stance, body now trapping the CEO entirely.

“Fuck, Rhys. You don’t know how much I’ve been going batshit about all this. It was just like a twenty-four seven thing forever.” The words rolled off Troy’s tongue in a husky stream, becoming a guttural growl in the process. “And you’re just so.” With a jab of his hips, the male siren used his flesh hand to drag down Rhys’ torso, grip his cock in a vice of an embrace. “Fucking.” Another fraction of an inch forward, his thumb slipping over the head, teasing with truncated strokes. “Hot.”

Troy was fast approaching the final stretch. The last bit of his exposed length finally sunk into the depths of Rhys’ ass, the passage conforming to its intrusion as if they were meant to be interlocked. The CEO’s fingers found purchase on Troy’s backside, indecisive in their actions, clawing at one moment, drawing him closer during the next. The siren was eager to see the marks they left on him, especially those from the pressure of cybernetic fingers. It was pushed to the back of his mind for now, his gaze on the perfect picture of euphoria beneath him. Rhys was a writhing, sweating thing of beauty, muscles in his neck taut beneath the skin, straining as his jaw clenched against the cacophony of noise threatening to escape him. Against his palm, Troy could feel the man’s cock pulsing, stroking its length with an almost loving touch, balls slapping against Rhys’ skin as he slid back an inch and gave a meager thrust.

Throwing his head back, the arch of his neck sublime in its symmetry, Rhys let out an outright wail that threatened to short-circuit the wiring in Troy’s spinal rig. It was that potent a force.

Now, as Troy fucked him in earnest, body finding the perfect pace to drive his extensive length in all the way to the base, plunder Rhys’ depths with abandon, the CEO’s breaths had joined the fray of ragged, constricted breathing. Every movement Troy made pulled moan after glorious moan from his lips. The man wasn’t shutting up any time soon, and Troy sure as hell didn’t want him to. He could see the contortion in his face, the near-sobbing expression of someone facing a full assault of continuous pleasure as Troy easily managed to reach those deep, deep places of gratification. 

“I’m going to be,” Rhys managed to sneak in between all his carrying on and warring for breaths, “so fucking sore tomorrow.”

It was unexpected, those words. So much that Troy couldn’t help it. Like gunfire from a semi-automatic, he cackled, trying not to find Rhys’ discomfort _too_ amusing. 

“Totally worth it though, am I right?”

Rhys growled in response. Again, it was totally out of place, and Troy wanted to suddenly wrap himself up in that sound, have it vibrate through him. He may have squeezed Rhys too hard in his grip, may have given a few strokes considered on the rougher side. Whatever the case, Rhys’ body was pulsating around him, every muscle tightening, winding higher and higher. Taking that as his cue, the male siren doubled his efforts, body beating out a jarring rhythm against Rhys’, grinding and lurching, his own toes curling with his slapdash methods. Snarls tore up his throat; a beast unleashed in the final throes, his choked off calls chasing his companion’s, matching them.

Like asteroids making planetfall, Troy’s orgasm slammed into him, tearing through his innards, making him sloppy and erratic in his movements. He hilted one final time, burying himself as deep as he could get, his whole body shuddering as ripple after ripple tore along his shaft. Even for him, the torrent of cum he unleashed inside the other man was excessive, stealing what breath remained in his lungs, making him feel like he was on the verge of disassociating even as he kept thrusting. Yet still there was more, the shear amount so much their bodies couldn’t contain it. Troy could feel it seeping out on to his balls, running in rivulets to the comforter below. 

Just when Troy didn’t think he could bring himself to move even an inch more, thought that he was milked dry of both fluids and energy combined, he felt the clench and drag of Rhys’ body. Seconds later the man was quivering in his grasp, crying out so loudly that it seemed impossible the sound could be coming from Rhys, so unassuming he was in that regard. Troy had almost forgotten that he still had his cock gripped securely in his fist, and when the first hot spurts of semen spilled in streams against his fingers, he was nearly startled by it. It wasn’t half as startling as the arches of cum that shot far enough to not only splatter against Troy’s form above himm but nearly ended up in his own hair. 

“Holy goddam shitballs,” he rasped out, laughter bubbling up, making the already difficult words even harder to get out. His eyes were crystallized points of brightness, like he’d swallowed a handful of the headiest drugs. “I think I’m in fucking love.” 

Letting his mechanical hand slip away where it was holding Rhys’ thigh first, it landed on the mattress near Rhys’ head once more. The other hand joined it, relinquishing the other man’s captivity so Troy could stretch out and all but collapse on him. His tongue swept out as he was dragged down by gravity, licking away a streak of cum that had landed on Rhys’ cheek and jaw. 

“I also think I might’ve just had my first out of body orgasm experience. Dunno yet.”

The last words were muffled, as Troy had buried his face in Rhys’ hair. The CEO’s chest heaved beneath him, his body still shivering every time he adjusted himself.

“Don’t get comfortable,” he muttered after some time had passed. “You’re not staying.”

Picking his head up slightly, Troy turned to look at him with an unfocused gaze.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he purred. “Just so you know, I don’t do the whole strings attached or monogamy shit. Not my scene.”

“Great. Perfect. We’re on the same page, then.”

“But, you know, one good turn almost always deserves another. So I usually _do_ go for round two.”

The look Rhys shot him was one hundred percent withering. Troy didn’t seem to take the hint, though. He bared his teeth right back in a rictus that just had Rhys sighing and shaking his head.

“Oh, almost forgot.” Troy did something with his robotic carapace, a spherical object popping free of the shoulder, hovering in the air above them, a round lens like a great unblinking eye in its center gazing down. “Yo, say creampuff.”

Troy crowded Rhys’ space, squashing himself up against him as if they were a pair of bros getting their picture snapped on some epic adventure. Like a deer in the headlights, Rhys had no idea what was going on before it was too late. His expression painted in confusion, the lens on the bot cycled several times with rapid clicks.

“Please tell me that thing’s not streaming right now or something equally as stupid.” 

“Nah, just a few souvenirs to remember you by. Won’t ever turn up on the ECHOnet, I swear.” Dropping to a more serious tone, Troy’s words were surprisingly even. “Though I’m hoping I won’t just have to remember you, if you know what I mean.”

Groaning, Rhys closed his eyes and let his head drop back entirely.

“God help me,” He sighed.

“I’m already on it. Or in you, to be one hundred percent more accurate.”

Another groan from Rhys. He draped his arm over his face, as if that extra barrier could separate them enough for Troy to fade into the background. 

But he didn’t. His presence lingered, still cradled within the CEO as if he’d gotten cozy and taken up residence there, his limbs loosely mimicking the same possessiveness. The male Calypso twin wasn’t going to just disappear, either by force of will or of his own volition. 

For that to happen, it was going to take a miracle. 

Too bad the only one who could likely grant miracles was the perpetrator lying in bed with him.

With a snort, Rhys accepted the irony at face value, willing himself to get some rest before Troy decided it was time to rail him with the dick of death for a second time.


End file.
